Gold
by Take Mercy
Summary: When a hunt goes terribly wrong, Sam is turned into a four-year-old child, and Dean is left caring for his little brother.
1. Prologue, I am

**Disclaimer: **Not mine.

**Note: **This story originated from the 'real' haunting of Johnny Johnson that I recently heard of (I have, however, changed many of the aspects of the story so it could fit properly into my plot).

I hope everyone enjoys this story! Reviews are always welcome

* * *

_I_

Edgar A. Guest

_I am the careless foe and mean;_

_I am the selfish rival too;_

_My enmity to me is seen_

_In almost everything I do._

_More courage it requires to beat_

_Myself, than all the foes I meet;_

_I am more traitorous to me_

_Than other men could ever be._

-

_Sunnyvale, California_

_2 Weeks Ago_

-

"Daniel! Nathan! I swear if you two don't stop this instant, I will – "

Giggling and a loud crash was the only reply that met Alison's ears as a toy bicycle in the adjacent aisle fell from its designated spot upon the shelves. She could hear its cheap frame crumple upon impact, and she winced. Any minute now, she expected the manager to have to remove her and her two sons from the department store.

Alison rounded the corner to the next aisle, her blonde curls bouncing in step with her heels. She stopped short, however, seeing the broken bicycle on its side; her children nowhere to be seen. Her eyes narrowed, not feeling in the mood to be playing Hide 'N Seek with her kids.

"Daniel! Nathan!"

Her voice rang clearly through the second floor of the old building. Besides the light music overhead, it was silent, and she could only justify that the place was empty because it was nearing closing time. A large, dusty giraffe was plastered on the wall in front of her with the slogan TOYS 'R US painted by its neck. Its toothy smile seemed to mock her present situation.

Footsteps tapping on the tile flooring, she hurried her pace, checking each aisle with a growing intensity for her boys. The sound of their footsteps had vanished; their giggling had gone. They couldn't just disappear into nowhere…

Could they?

Her hands were shaking by the time she reached the end of the building, and just as she was about to reach for her cell phone to call her husband, a voice called from behind her.

"Honey?"

Relief poured through Alison's veins as she caught sight of her husband, standing beside Daniel, and holding Nathan up on his shoulders. She nearly ran to them, relief slowly fleeing to be replaced with irritation.

She looked to her children, hands on her hips, "If you boys ever cause such a ruckus like this again – "

"Honey, what are you talking about?" Her husband's confused eyes met hers.

"Jason, these two were running through the aisles, knocking over everything in their tracks. I couldn't find them anywhere."

"Ally, that's impossible. Danny and Nathan were with me."

"Yeah, mommy," Daniel's small voice interjected. He scurried over to his mother, holding out a small plastic toy, "Look what daddy bought me! The Red Ranger!"

Alison's laugh was forced as she patted her son's head. Her gaze never broke with her husband's, "I could have sworn – "

"Excuse me."

Alison jumped as an unfamiliar hand touched her shoulder. As polite as the voice sounded, it was, at the moment, unwanted in their conversation. She briefly turned and glanced at the woman's blue outfit. A name tag (Manager: Lisa) was pinned neatly to her chest.

"I'm sorry," the woman said, "But I'd like to let you both know that we're closing the store in two minutes. The exit is downstairs."

"Thank you," Jason spoke for his wife when she couldn't seem to find her voice for responding. Grasping his wife's hand, the couple walked to the stairs, until Alison quickly turned around.

"Wait," Alison face the manager, "I think there's another child playing around up here. I could have sworn it was my boys, but…"

"Oh, thank you for telling me, but don't worry," Lisa's smile was sincere, and she brushed the observation off with a wave of her hand, "I'll take a look around before I close the store."

Lisa watched as the young couple descended the stairs, and within minutes, she was the only one left in the building. Slowly, she turned, and walked into the middle of the floor.

She called out to the unseen figure, "Johnny!"

She waited for a response. None came.

"Johnny!" She called again.

When no one answered again, she began to walk the aisles, making sure to keep her voice steady and her footsteps even and slow.

"Johnny, I cannot have you scaring off my customers."

Something brushed the skin on her ankle, and Lisa jumped with surprise. She glanced down, and saw him. A small child, whose hands were cold as ice, whose skin was as pale as a sheet of paper, sat cross-legged at her feet. A small sigh escaped her, and she knelt down next to him.

"Johnny, I know you only want to have fun, but you can't keep doing this."

"I only wanna have fun."

"I know that. But you are scaring off my customers. This is the third time this week, and I've gotten more complaints this month than I can handle."

"I only wanna have fun."

Lisa shook her head, "If you can't stop your behavior, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

"But I only wanna have fun."

"Johnny, stop it."

"I wanna – "

"_Johnny!_"

The child sat looking at her, his eyes clouded with a sudden anger. Lisa stood and brushed off her skirt, "Johnny, I'm going to have to ask you to leave."

The clicking of Lisa's heels was the only sound in the building. It echoed against the fat, concrete walls which absorbed the noise with ease.

But when the knife entered her back, when the small, icy hands encircled her neck, when she screamed for her life, the walls entrapped her cries.

By sunrise, the job was done, and the child slowly walked back to his corner on the second floor. Ghostly arms encircled the knees that he brought to his chest, and he stared at the bloody knife by his feet.

"I only wanna have fun."


	2. The Hunt

Reviews are always welcome.

Enjoy!

-

_Orange County, California_

_Present Day_

_-_

The funny thing about vacations was that they seemed more like Hell than when he was actually on the job. In fact, Sam could not think of a _better_ way to describe it than that. While Dean was out partying, tanning, picking up women – or whatever the heck he was doing – Sam felt the overriding need to play the responsible, sober lookout. That saying, not everyone had a job like theirs: solving the crime (aka: destroying evil) before breakfast time. It was only natural that he felt _someone_ had to look out for their backs – even when it was a vacation.

So here he sat; fully clothed, hair messed and damp from his ten minute shower, humped over his laptop and neatly taking notes on a pad of paper.

Yes, he concluded. Compared to Dean's behavior, this was perfectly sensible.

The sound of keys jangling in the door lock was what broke Sam's gaze from the computer screen. He swiveled in his chair so as to face the intruder (whom he was sure to be his brother), and prepared himself for the reprimand that was sure to erupt (to Dead, Sam's actions were inexcusable – especially when there were beautiful girls playing pool in the bar next door).

Seconds later, Dean stepped through the door – newly tanned, hair tousled from the ocean water, and a surefire smirk on his face that Sam was sure had only to do with a woman. The youngest crossed his arms over his chest as Dean threw the keys onto a nearby table.

"You look like you had fun."

"Ah, Sammy," Dean sighed as he plopped down on his bed. He threw his wet towel carelessly onto the pile of laundry in the corner, "You're too young to understand. Now, don't tell me what I think you're doing right now."

"That depends on what you think I'm doing."

Before Sam could begin to realize what his brother was planning, he had jumped from the bed and snatched up his notebook. Sam was up in an instant, trying to grab the notes he had begun to compile about a possible hunt in a nearby town.

"Dean!" A frustrated grunt escaped his throat, however because of his size, it was easy to snatch back the papers. This, though, was not before the damage was done. Dean's playful tone changed, and the reprimand that Sam had been anticipating, came full force.

"Sam, come on! This is supposed to be a vacation! Live a little, will ya? I mean, how many times are we going to get the opportunity to relax and have fun?"

"Dean, someone was murdered."

"Newsflash, Sam. People get murdered all the time. This isn't something new."

"But if we can prevent another one, then I think it's worth a little sacrifice on our part."

Dean sighed, slowly dragging his hand down his face. With this murder on his brother's mind, Dean knew the rest of their vacation would be nothing but tense and unexciting. Giving one last look at his brother, he finally surrendered.

"Fine, but promise me one thing: that when this hunt is over, we go on a real vacation – no being glued to the news station or scouring obituaries – none of that. Got it?"

Sam finally let a smile crack on his face, "Yeah, Dean."

"Now what do you got?" Dean pulled up a chair and leaned into the table, squinted at the opened laptop.

Passing Dean his notes, Sam began to speak, "Lisa Howard was found murdered two weeks ago – "

"Where?"

"A department store in Sunnyvale."

"Do you got the name of it?"

Sam paused, knowing that the answer he was about to give was only going to rile up his brother, "It was a Toys 'R Us."

The sound of his brother's laughter met his ears, and Sam shook his head, "Dean, this woman was _murdered_."

"What, by a Barbie doll?"

"Dean."

"Alright, alright. What else? Who murdered her?"

"Nobody knows. Customer's found her the next day. There weren't any surveillance cameras."

"Sam," Dean threw the notes back onto the table, and sighed, "That doesn't sound supernatural to me."

"I know that. But I searched through the crime scene photos online," Sam pulled the laptop towards him and double clicked a file on the desktop. He pushed the screen towards his brother, "Take a look at this."

The photo was gruesome, and even Dean (who had seen dozens of mutilated bodies and demons) flinched. Had not the manager's hair been torn from her body, had not her nose, her lips, her ears been sliced, her eyes gouged and her stomach carved; had not her hands been severed and placed on her torn breasts, her toes chopped and arranged obscurely on her pelvis…beneath all the blood and gore, he could see no reason as to why this woman was chosen for such a fate.

"Jesus," Dean finally had to look away.

"Yeah, I know. And that's not all; take a look up in the top right corner."

Dean spared another glance, and sure enough, his eyes trained upon what at first he had missed.

"What, is that – "

"Sulfer," Sam said, "At least I think so. I can't be sure unless I see it in person."

"Alright, Sammy, if you say so."

Dean stood up, heading over to his luggage bag, where he pulled on a shirt and stuffed his wallet into his shorts pocket, "Where we heading to again?"

"Sunnyvale. It's about five hours from here."

"You got the history on the place?"

Sam nodded, "I'll have to cross-check it, but I've got a bit. Apparently back in the 1880's, a preacher named William Flynn and his wife Sarah lived on the family farm, which had been passed down from William's father. They had a child Johnny, who died when he was about four years old. He was shot in the head by his father. Papers say it was accidental, but with this Lisa's murder…"

"You thinking vengeful spirit?"

"I'm not sure. We've never come across a vengeful spirit this young. Besides, Johnny _could_ have been truly shot accidentally."

Dean was already carelessly throwing his clothes into his luggage back, "Alright, let's pack and get out of here. But I'm telling you, if we're not relaxing on a sunny beach with a woman on either side of us by Friday, I swear – "

"Yeah, yeah, I get it."

Twenty minutes later, the low rumble of the Impala's engine hummed along I-5 North.


	3. Life's Tests

**_Life's Tests_**

Edgar A. Guest

_If never a sorrow came to us, and never a care we knew;_

_If every hope were realized, and every dream came true;_

_If only joy were found on earth, and no one ever sighed,_

_And never a friend proved false to us, and never a loved one died,_

_And never a burden bore us down, soul-sick and weary, too,_

_We'd yearn for tests to prove our worth and tasks for us to do._

* * *

"So you're electricians?" 

"Yes, ma'am, born and raised!"

With Dean's driving, it had taken only four hours to get to Sunnyvale, and now they stood inside the dusty Toys 'R Us, toolboxes in hand, and clad in blue electrician's jumpsuits. In front of them, an employee stood, hands on her hips, her pierced eyebrow arched in suspicion, and chewing a piece of lime green gum. Her nametag read Jenny, and she looked bored and ready to leave the conversation.

"Uh huh," she said, "And who called you in?"

Dean cleared his throat, "Well, uh, you see – "

"We're actually just here for a maintenance check up," Sam said, cutting his brother off, "We wanted to make sure everything was running smoothly."

Jenny shook her head and a small laugh escaped her, "Yeah, well, you're going to have to fix a lot of things around here. These products suck."

"What are you talking about?" Dean asked.

"The lights flicker and die all the time – "

"Just one specific light?"

"No, all of them. Weird thing is, it only happens here – not at the diner across the street or the other places."

Quickly, both Sam and Dean exchanged a glance, and then returned their attention back to the employee.

"Alright," Sam said. "We just have a few more questions for you, Jenny, and then we'll let you get back to work. Have you been hearing any unexplained noises, like say a clicking or a banging?"

Jenny lowered her gaze and shook her head, "You guys are going to think I'm crazy… but I swear, I always think I'm hearing a knocking from upstairs when I'm closing up the store. I check to make sure no one's up there, but I get back downstairs, and I hear start to hear it again."

"Hmm," Dean said, nodding his head in a fashion to show he 'knew' the answer, "Sounds to me like the, uh, electrical configuration in the wiring is a bit off."

Sam drew a taught smile at his brother's conclusion, hoping that the girl wouldn't pick up on the lie, and when she didn't, he quickly thanked her for her time. Within the minute, the brothers were climbing the concrete stairs to the second floor, toolboxes still in hand.

"Real smooth, Dean," Sam muttered as he reached the top step.

"Ah, she was all for me, man. You just got to learn, chicks dig it when you know what you're talking about. Like, say, when you're in a bar – "

"Dean."

At the interruption, Dean glared at his brother, "Dude, stop interrupting me."

"Dean, don't you think it's a bit strange that we're in the middle of a largely populated city, it's summer time, and there are hardly any kids in this store?"

Dean's eyes creased as he looked around. The second floor was void of people, and he remembered seeing only a few parents browsing the aisles on the first. Over the railing to the second floor, Dean spotted Jenny, who was beginning to restock the shelves, and stared at her.

Sam cleared his throat to get back his brother's attention, "So you think this is a haunting?"

Dean shrugged his shoulders, eyes still averted to downstairs, "Well, I don't see why a little more investigation would hurt. Why don't you check up here while I go have another little chat with Ms. Jenny."

"Dude, there's nothing more to talk with her about – "

"Sam, trust me on this one. Just take a look around, look for that sulfur you saw in the picture or see if you find anything else. Meanwhile, maybe I can get Jenny to give me some more info. It seemed like she was holding back on me when we were talking."

Sam rolled his eyes, recalling the entire two minute conversation in his head, "That's because you were staring at her chest the entire time."

"Hey, hey, take it easy Sparky," Dean was already striding to the stairs. He called back over his shoulder with a large grin on his face, "Have fun, Sammy boy."

As he began to head towards the center aisles, a sigh escaped him and he couldn't help to mutter a small "_Jerk_" under his breath. Behind him, Dean laughed as if able to hear him, and not a second later, "_Bitch_" rang through the nearly silent building.

* * *

He could only hear his own footsteps as they tapped lightly atop the dusty concrete flooring. Sam glanced around, finding himself oddly spooked by the looks of the place. Although the aisles were filled colorfully with pink Barbie doll boxes and purple hula-hoops, the place was cold and heavy, and it gave him the creeps. Above him, a florescent light buzzed and flickered and finally burnt out. 

Aisle 15C.

He needed to find aisle 15C, where Lisa had been murdered.

Silently, he walked, eyes ahead but keeping his peripherals alert in case of attack. His hand clutched his toolbox – which really had no tools at all, instead, carried an EVP detector, rock salt, a vial of holy water, and a small book composed of Latin exorcisms.

12C…

13C…

14C…

15C.

Sam rounded the corner, and immediately, a heavy feeling enveloped his body. Stumbling a little, he blinked and tried to rid the sudden pounding headache in his skull. After a moment of regaining his composure, Sam headed to the center of the aisle. He could tell it had been scrubbed clean of the blood, although underneath the shelves, the floor was still lightly spattered. He winced.

Kneeling down to where the body would have been, his eyes scanned the floor for the sulfur he thought he had seen in the photo. Although the floor had been cleaned, maybe just like the blood, there was still some underneath the shelves.

But for some reason, he suddenly couldn't concentrate. Sam shut his eyes tightly and massaged his temples, trying to ease his spasming and throbbing muscles. Cold washed over him, and he suddenly couldn't breathe as his chest tightened and constricted his lungs. His balance gave way, and with a small cry, Sam toppled from his knees and fell to his side.

Something as cold as ice touched his cheek, and while gasping for breath, Sam's eyes slivered open.

A boy knelt beside him. His hair was messed, and even in the shadowed aisle, Sam could see that his eyes were as black as night. The arm that had touched Sam's cheek was too pale to be human. The boy cocked his head to the side, as if considering what to do with his prey. Somewhere in his still lucid mind, Sam knew it had to be Johnny.

"Friend," It finally whispered.

With his last remained breath, he called out as loud as he could to his brother, "DEAN!"

Like a blanket of darkness, Sam was covered and he knew no more.

* * *

"So I was thinking if you're free tomorrow night, maybe I could take you somewhere." 

Jenny raised her pierced eyebrow. Dean continued, hastily, "You know, like out for food… or something."

The employee stared at him a minute, then grabbed a pink bear from the cart in front of her, and continued restocking the shelf, "You're trying way too hard."

Dean blanched, "I am?"

"Yeah," She laughed.

"Oh."

"But I kind of like that. You're different than all the other guys I know."

"I hope that's a good thing."

"Trust me," Jenny said, "It is."

"Well, then," Dean smirked and took a step closer, leaning up against the metal shelf, "I could pick you up at – "

"DEAN!"

Dean stopped mid-sentence, and his face dropped. Heart suddenly pounding furiously at the calling from Sam, and without a second glance at Jenny, he was sprinting towards the stairs where he had last seen his brother.

Somewhere in the building, someone screamed, and just as Dean hit the first step on the staircase, the lights overhead burst with a _crack_.

"Shit!" Dean's hands were fumbling from adrenaline, and his fingers shook as he tried to pull his flashlight out from inside his jumpsuit.

He needed to find Sam.

Before he had even tried to click on his flashlight, Dean was taking the steps three at a time in the pitch dark. He hit the top of the stairs without knowing it, and he tripped over his own feet, sprawling gracelessly to the ground. Nosily, his still off flashlight rolled away from him, and he swore again, realizing that had been his only chance to see.

Oblivious to the employees or the other customers, Dean got to his feet and yelled for his brother, "Sam! Sammy, where are you?"

There was no response.

Dean's eyes began to adjust, and he walked cautiously through the dark, feeling like a blind man.

"Sam!"

Dean stopped and held his breath, this time listening carefully for any type of reply. He almost began to walk again when he heard it.

The sound was soft, and if he hadn't have stopped so still, he surely would have missed to small, painful moan.

It had come from ahead of him, and Dean took off in that direction, not caring in the least if he ran into anything.

"I'm coming, Sammy!" He called again.

And then he saw him. Against an exit door, underneath the soft red glow of the emergency light, was a small figure curled up tightly and moving ever so slightly. Dean doubled his pace, and got to the figure in five long strides. He fell to his knees, and with a shock, realized that this figure was not his brother.

It was a child.

He swallowed harshly, and with shaking hands, turned the boy (who was not more than four years old), onto his back.

Dean suddenly coiled back, and his eyes widened almost comically. He almost couldn't breathe and he withdrew his hands as if he had been burned.

The face was unmistakable. Shaggy dark hair plastered the boy's forehead with sweat, and even though the eyes were closed, every feature on the child was disturbingly too familiar to…

Dean shook his head fervently.

However, even if the boy's head had been shadowed by the darkness, Dean still would have seen the fake extra-tall electrician's jumpsuit that swallowed up the child's too small body.

Dean couldn't move, and his body felt rigid as he stared at the boy by his knees.

"_Sammy_?"

* * *

**tbc**


	4. Under the Skin of Men

I apologize for the wait! My computer crashed and it took a few days to get it up and running again. However, I appreciate all of the support I've received from everyone! Thank you! And I hope you enjoy!

* * *

_Under the Skin of Men_

Edgar A. Guest

_Did you ever sit down and talk with men_

_In a serious sort of way,_

_On their views of life and ponder then_

_On all that they have to say?_

_If not, you should in some quiet hour;_

_It's a glorious thing to do:_

_For you'll find that back of the power and power_

_Most men have a goal in view._

_I've talked with men and I think I know_

_What's under the toughened skin._

_I've seen their eyes grow bright and glow_

_With the fire that burns within._

_And back of the gold and back of the fame_

_And back of the selfish strife,_

_In most men's breasts you'll find the flame_

_Of the nobler things of life._

* * *

**Chapter 3**

**Under the Skin of Men**

"Sam?"

Dean's eyes were glued to the child. He couldn't move; couldn't think; couldn't bear to believe that this _kid_ was his brother. Tentatively, he moved closer, never wavering his gaze, and reached out with his hand.

He kept his guard up, because perhaps this was just an apparition. Maybe the ghost was fooling with his mind. However, when his fingers grazed the boy's thin shoulder, Dean couldn't help but feel a thick wave of dread claw at his stomach.

Dean took another glance around, hoping that he would see Sam walking towards him from the other side of the room, a grin on his face. Moments passed, and still it was just Dean and the child. Looking down once more, he studied the face; the mole on his cheek, on his chin; the small scar on his forehead from playing too rough years and years ago.

Voices permeated his thoughts from the downstairs. An older woman, sounding authoritative, seemed to be calming the worries of the customers. It was apparent by the vague confusion in her voice that she had not known what had caused the sudden power outage.

Looking back down at Sam, Dean's conscience kicked in like a punch to the gut. There was no time to sit and think.

He had to get out of the building. Whatever had done this to his brother was still there.

Slipping his hands underneath Sam's armpits, the older hunter easily lifted the young body into his arms. His brother's hair tickled the skin on his neck, and he could smell the cheap hotel shampoo radiating from it. Dean felt uncomfortable with how effortless the body fit; how it felt cradled against his chest; how Sam was oblivious to it all. The extra-large sized electrician's outfit fell over him like a blanket, the ankles of the pants falling to the floor; Sam's feet just barely touching the inside crotch of the suit.

With arms he could hardly feel, Dean gathered up the material, folding the leg and arm holes around his brother like a cocoon. Then, making one last glance around the silent second floor, Dean pushed open the Emergency Exit, ignoring the alarm it triggered, and ran through the door, almost not feeling the biting wind against his cheeks.

* * *

With little effort, Dean had placed his brother in the back seat of the Impala, and had cranked the engine, speeding unnoticed out of the parking lot. Drops of rain began falling from the sky, creating a flow of small, steady streams against the dirty windows. The roads were empty, and Dean allowed his eyes to drift to the rearview mirror. Slowly moving his hand from the steering wheel, he tilted the mirror until he could see his brother's form. The boy remained still, oblivious to the change that had occurred. 

Looking forwards once more, Dean sped up. Hearing the engine's roar helped to take the sudden panic he was beginning to feel. His knuckles grew white as he clutched the steering wheel.

Arriving to the nearest motel in what was sure to be record time, Dean pulled into the closest parking place and shut off the engine. An uncomfortable silence gripped the inside of the car, and Dean's sensitive ears suddenly became all too aware of the small puffs of air that escaped his brother's lips. Dean shifted in his seat; for what was sure to be the first time in his life, he had no idea of what to do.

Slowly, uncertainly, Dean pulled out his cell phone, dialing the only person who could be trusted; who might have even the slightest idea of what to do.

"Hello?"

"Bobby? It's Dean."

"Dean? It's been awhile! How are you doing?"

Dean only gripped the steering wheel tighter, and averted his eyes from the rearview mirror.

"Something's wrong, Bobby."

The friendly tone in the elder hunter's voice changed, and Dean heard nothing but concern, "What happened?"

"Uh, we were on a hunt…"

"Dean, what happened?"

Dean swallowed harshly, "It's Sam. The demon, it, he's, Sam's a kid. The demon turned Sam into a kid."

A pause, "_What_?"

"I, I don't know how it happened. I wasn't there. I should have been there."

"What do you mean by a 'kid', Dean?"

"What do you _think_ I mean?" The question hung thickly in the air. Dean closed his eyes and took a breath, "I'm sorry. It's just, he's a _kid_, you know? Three feet tall kind of kid."

"Is the demon still out there?"

"Yeah, I think so. Bobby, I don't know what," Dean bit his lip, "I've never heard of anything like this before."

"Where are you now?"

He looked out the window, not remembering in the slightest of what motel he had pulled into, then relayed that information to Bobby.

"Alright, lay low until I get there. It'll be sometime tomorrow morning."

With a small sigh, Dean breathed out the air he hadn't realized he'd been holding, "Thanks, Bobby."

* * *

A thousand paces later around the motel room floor, Dean had exhausted his legs, and had plopped into the chair seated next to Sam's bed. 

His little brother lay snug between a thick comforter, his small head nearly engulfed by the worn feather pillow. Sam still wore the large jump suit, for Dean lacked the nerve to expose the miniature body out in the open. It had taken everything Dean had left to carry his limp brother into the room.

It was late morning when Dean jumped from his stupor by a noise outside the door. His tired eyes jerked open, and with a speed he didn't know he possessed, stood from the chair and snatched his gun from the seat of his pants.

Aiming steadily, he kept only the sight of the door in focus.

A knock came from behind the worn wood, "Dean? It's Bobby."

Momentarily, Dean closed his eyes, and with a forced breath, returned his weapon. With three long strides, he reached the door.

Confirming the sight of the older hunter in the small window of the door, Dean unlocked it, and allowed him to come in.

To his surprise, Bobby entered carrying two large plastic bags, which were bulky and heavy. Through the thin plastic, Dean spotted a few pieces of fabric, something that resembled a stuffed toy, and boxes of various sizes.

"I brought some things over for Sam: clothes, some food for both of you," Bobby placed his burden on a nearby table, "I figured you hadn't had the chance to stop by the store yet."

A wave of gratitude washed over Dean for the man.

"Bobby," Dean hadn't realized how exhausted he felt until he spoke, when the sound came out as more of a groan. Bobby turned to him, and a moment passed where they just stood silent, acknowledging each other's presence. Dean spoke again, "It's been a while."

"It's been too long," Bobby concurred, and after looking at the older Winchester, he added, "You look like you haven't slept in a week."

Dean nodded – because that statement felt too true – and motioned to the still figure on the bed, "Well, Sam here hasn't been too much of a help with that."

For the first time since arriving, Bobby looked at the boy. If he was thinking anything, Dean couldn't read it on his face.

"You mind telling me what happened?"

Dean had just opened his mouth when a soft groan came from the bed. They turned simultaneously, seeing small legs kick gently beneath the sheets. A moment later, and both Dean and Bobby were on either side of the bed.

"Sam?" With a tentative hand, Bobby gently shook his small shoulder.

Another groan, however this time, heavy-lidded eyes opened, and Sam awoke. It took a moment for the sleepiness to disappear, but once the child's eyes focused upon Dean, he brightened. With surprising quickness for someone who had just awoken, he leapt from underneath the covers at his brother.

"Dean!"

Startled, it took Dean a second to realize that the child wasn't attacking him, but instead, hugging him. Small arms gripped his neck, and the lithe legs wrapped around his torso. Awkwardly, Dean grasped the boy under the arms and pulled until Sam finally released his hold. Dean sat him on the bed so he was facing him, and tried not to notice the way the boy's face fell.

Bobby watched carefully, noting the unease in the usually-confident hunter. He turned his attention to the boy, "Sam?" he asked.

Immediately, the boy stiffened, not realizing there had been a third person in the room. Sam shifted and looked up at the man. Then to Dean, he whispered, "Who's that?"

"I'm Bobby, Sam. I'm Dean's friend."

"Dean's friend?" Sam turned back, looking at his brother, "He's scary looking."

"You think so?" Dean asked, speaking to his for the first time. Glancing over Sam's shoulder, he attempted a smirk at the other hunter, but his lips only pulled back into what looked like a grimace.

"Sam," Bobby said, "Do you remember anything that happened?"

Sam's face fell in concentration, his gaze averted for a few seconds, then, said bluntly, "'member what?"

"Think hard, Sam. It's very important."

Dean watched silently, awkwardly crossing his arms around his chest. He felt out of place, felt useless; uncomfortable.

"_Well_," Sam said, his feet kicking the side of the bed noisily, "Dad went away, an' he said not to go outside. An' Dean said he would play trucks with me, but he got tired an' watched TV, an' I went to bed."

The two adults exchanged a quick glance, and Dean cleared his throat, "Be right back, Sammy." He said, grabbing his coat from the chair. He slipped it on numbly, hearing the car keys jingle in the pocket.

"Where are you going?" Bobby stepped closer to him, eyes crossed in what looked like scrutiny.

Dean reached the door, and paused with his hand on the handle, "You can watch him for a little bit, can't you?"

"That depends on where you think you're going."

"Dean, where 'you going?" Sam got to his feet, but stumbled immediately on the pant legs of the suit and fell to his knees. Before either of the hungers could even attempt to help him up, he was back on his feet; eyes wide and imploring at his older brother.

"I'll be right back, Sammy," Dean stole a glance at Bobby, "Uncle Bobby will be here with you."

Dean was out the door before the others could get in another word. Within moments, he was seated in the silent interior of the Impala, left to stare blankly out the front window.

This was his fault.

It was his _job_ to look out for Sam. It was his _duty_.

All the toils his father went through to ensure Sam's safety, and there was Dean – ignoring his own brother, flirting with a girl and hoping to get lucky.

He clenched his teeth in anger, feeling a small shiver run through him. If he couldn't take care of Sam while he was twenty-three, how was he supposed to when he was _three_? With a sluggish gaze, he spared a glance in the rearview mirror.

Its position showed the empty back seat, where his brother had lay unconscious.

Unconscious.

Dean shut his eyes tightly, and ignored the rain as it pelted the car in sheets of water.

* * *

When Dean finally returned, the rain had at last let up, and the sun began to shine through the darkened clouds. He opened the motel room door quietly, nervously, and was greeted by the sight of Bobby's pacing. He rounded Dean, face taught in an emotion which he couldn't read. 

"Where the hell were you?"

Dean averted his eyes, "I, I needed to think."

"Yeah, well while you were thinking, your brother here has been practically begging for you. You can't just run off like that, Dean! Not with your brother like this!"

Dean remained stoic, only moving to check to see where Sam actually was. His eyes almost missed the form of his brother curled underneath the blankets, napping.

"He asked for me?"

"Of course he did. The kid almost fell asleep standing, but wouldn't sleep until his saw you. I had to promise you'd only be back once he woke up."

"You mean he's not upset?"

"Upset? Why would he be upset?"

Dean shook his head, said a quiet "Never mind," and walked into the small adjoining room, which held a kitchen. Like a quick heartbeat, Bobby's footsteps pounded behind him.

"This isn't your fault, Dean."

"Like hell, it isn't! How am I supposed to –"

"Dean?"

The small, inquiring voice came from the other room, and Dean took a breath. With tense hands, he rubbed his brow, shaking his head.

"Go take care of your brother. He needs you," Bobby's voice was soft and compassionate, something so very rarely heard from him, "And for God's sake, stop blaming yourself. Not _everything_ in the world is your fault."

Dean looked up quickly and caught the humor in the older hunter's eyes. He nodded, appreciating the fatherly pat Bobby gave him on his shoulder, and didn't take any extra time as he walked to his brother.

* * *


End file.
